Friday, August 31, 2007

Father left for the Great White North yesterday, oldest sister (my Aunt Judi) in tow. Sunday, we took his Winnebago† to said aunt's house so she could pack some of her stuff and stock the fridge and such and we had breakfast with my aunt and uncle.

I made sure -- in Aunt Judi's presence -- to tell Dad to keep an eye out for qiviut. I'd like you to imagine this conversation I (willing to pay $40 a skein for cashmere%... hell, willing to pay $25 a skein for plain ol' superwash sock yarn if the colours are pretty enough^) had with my father (balks at $25 for a pair of jeans):

"Qiviut. Q-I-V-I-U-T. Musk Ox yarn."

"Oh, yeah. I've heard of that."

"It's kinda expensive..."

"What does 'expensive' mean?"

"More expensive than cashmere."

"What does 'more expensive than cashmere' mean?"

"Um... I think about $50 or $60 an ounce?"

"Yarn comes in ounces?"

"Oh, yeah. The stuff you're using‡ is about 50 grams, so yours is a little under two ounces."

(Dad does a little math...)

"Good grief."

*sigh* I'm not holding out a lot of hope for qiviut.

In retrospect, it probably wasn't fair to make my poor father assess the price point of any qiviut he may run across.§ But if they have roadside qiviut stands where yarn is $20 a bushel, I'd hate to miss out. Besides, I made sure Aunt Judi knows the score so she can talk him off a ledge if there's a two-bushel minimum.

[SUMMARY: There is a good reason married couples should maintain separate checking accounts.]

*************

Last night was the last night of Stitch Therapy at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack, the lovely little LYS a mere seven blocks from the Barfly Beach & Resort.

Alas, that store is no more.

We drank wine and reminisced as we knitted. Then we carried the green chairs out of the annex for the last time and stood sniffling a little at the big, bare shelves and the pink-striped wall with its proud, gilded POSH, now standing alone and fuzzless.

Goodbye, little Posh shop. We hardly knew ye.¶

[SUMMARY: *sniff*]

*************

I have another sad yarn story to tell you (gossip from Stitch Therapy):

The Recycled Lamb, a local shop, was vandalised recently. From what the knittas at Syl's said, some kids were sitting on a roof across from the shop chucking rocks at the front window. Once they broke it, they tossed firecrackers in.

Thousands of dollarsof sock yarn# was thrown away because of glass shards in the skeins.

[SUMMARY: Get a drink if you have to. Make it a double.]

While I'm horrified at the travesty, I also must sheepishly (ha!) admit that my first thought was, "I wonder if that stuff is still in the dumpster."

Mary Kay and I stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the wall of shame, proclaiming what we would be willing to do to save the yarn, including dumpster diving,†† winding hanks into balls four or five times to remove glass and taking the chance on slicing our fingers to ribbons.

[SUMMARY: Where dorkdom and fibre-lust meet, there I will be...]

*************

At Lyda's request (more or less),$ I am posting a list of fifteen books I truly love. Fiction. No classics,‡‡ no particular order, not saying the *best* books, only some of my favourites.

Mists of Avalon (Marion Zimmer Bradley)

The Art of Breaking Glass (Matthew Hall)

Child of the Morning (Pauline Gedge)

The Assassini (Thomas Gifford)

The Red Tent (Anita Diamant)

The Power of One (Bryce Courtenay)

Dream Snake (Vonda McIntyre)

The Vampire Lestat (Anne Rice)

Lonesome Dove (Larry McMurtry)

Sung in Shadow (Tanith Lee)

Legacy (Susan Kay)

Practical Magic (Alice Hoffman)

Boy's Life (Robert McCammon)

Weaveworld (Clive Barker)

Winter's Tale (Mark Helprin)

Then, because I love so many non-fiction books, I'm including a list of ten non-fiction books. But no humour or how-to.§§

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Mission Falls Wool, which is about $6 a ball, or $3.41 per ounce, for those of you scoring at home. I'm sure he thinks he's comparing apples to apples when his eyes bug out like that and his eye starts twitching, but there's far less overhead in knitting than, say, fishing (his big hobby of choice).

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): It was also probably not fair to smack him in the face with the utter insanity that is his only daughter's hobby mentality. However, if he says anything, I'm going to ask him to run me a tally on fishing equipment he owns. I've rarely spent as much in a month on yarn as he might spend on a single fly rod.

And I don't have a Winnebago for my stash. Just sayin'.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): 'Specially the back room.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Take a moment, eca.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Notice how neatly I blame this on poor Lyda.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Under cover of night. This involved (in our fantasy, which we acted out in the middle of the store) Black Ops uniforms and facial camouflage as well as a lot of very military-like hand gestures and a whole soundtrack just like you see in the movies when they have to free Sarge from the POW camp.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Because I would have to agonise over tossing Gone With the Wind, Jane Eyre, Little Women, Emma and the Phantom of the Opera. It was just easier this way.

§§FOOTNOTE (look at them curves!): Because I would have to agonise over tossing any number of knitting books, not to mention Dave Barry. It was just easier this way.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (I have no more paragraph crystals! I'm givin' her all I've got!): Because I would have to agonise over *which* Bryson or *which* Kingsolver and I'm just not strong enough. Besides, this way I can sneak in that many more books by pushing the entire oeuvre of each author.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

The age-in-dating issue really strikes a chord for some of you.† Lights a bulb. Sets off a nuclear device betwixt the ears.

*sigh*

OK, for the second time yesterday,‡ I was dead wrong. Dead. Wrong.

Let me take you back sixteen years to when I was 24 and was dating a 39-year-old man with two ex-wives and three ex-sons.

I was not interested in men my own age, primarily because there *were* no 24-year-old men in my radar. There were only 24-year-old boys. Gross, hedonistic, sexually irresponsible, emotionally retarded, alcohol-soaked, financially untenable boys.

If I knew then what I know now, I might have spent less time looking for a meaningful relationship and rode out my twenties on a wave of blissful sexual excess.

[SUMMARY: And my 40s and 20s would be different... how?]

Instead, I hooked up with Rich. Rich was in Vietnam when I was eating paste in pre-school. Rich was starting his first family when I was starting middle school.

We could *not* agree on a radio station. Not for long, at least. He liked the classic rock station,§ which I could go with as a novelty, but my heavy metal/goth sensibilities needed feeding too. Looking back, it feels like Rich and I spent all our time together twitting each other about our musical/movie/TiVi taste and trying to find something we could both listen to/watch.

Because of that, I'd written a rule for myself that anyone who wasn't in high school when I was in high school probably can't talk to me. That doesn't mean everybody who was in high school when I was in high school *can* talk to me, but at least it eliminates a whole area I saw as a known and avoidable problem.

[SUMMARY: Dead. Wrong.]

The Fling (your Bachelor #4) is fine. He isn't immature. He doesn't twit me about my age. He is attentive, accommodating, present, loves my body, has a big dick and we can talk. Not that we talk a lot, but we always do and I suspect if this were all about sex, we wouldn't want to.

Part of me is uneasy about admitting all this (to y'all or to myself) because I don't want to be caught in yet another web of emotional hope and disappointment and it's easier to play cool% if I can casually say, "Yeah, I'm just in it for the sex."

Besides, if we ever have a Talk or he tells me about some other girl he's falling for$ I can more easily bounce into the fun fuck-buddy role and lick my wounds in private¶ where they won't embarrass me.

[SUMMARY: I'm human. And I was wrong.]

Besides, the rug burn? Totally worth it. And a funny story: when he saw the rug burn yesterday morning, he made a big show of matching it to the couch, the recliner, the stairs... to determine exactly where it happened.

"I watch a lot of CSI," he said, "and I'd say from the angle and the trajectory that this came from the couch. Definitely the couch."

[SUMMARY: She had sex on the stairs?]

Onward to the Yarn P0rn!

[SUMMARY: Fibre photos make everything better.]

The Seven Deadly Sins Sock Club from Fearless Fibres kicked into gear late last week.

Here is the first shipment:

Nice feet

Gluttony and Wrath

The true colour (at least on my monitor) is somewhere between the wide shot and the close-ups, leaning a little toward the close-ups.

I'm ever-so-slightly disappointed in the colours. I have a gorgeous hank of purplepurplepurple sock yarn from Fearless Fibres that eca-elf sent for my birthday. The colours are rich and saturated, ranging from almost-aubergine, through royal and right into a deep reddish purple.

Lust may look very like that purple colour to me.

Shouldn't sin be rich and saturated? If your sin is kinda medium to faded, you're not getting enough out of it. Or you're Catholic, but that's another issue.

Gluttony is billed as being rich shades of caramel and chocolate, which I get in theory. I don't see much of what I would call chocolate in this. I think there should be much more dark. I think the caramel is gorgeous, but against the middling mutt browns,# it just looks yellowy.

Mostly, it looks like a Milky Way to me. Nothing wrong with Milky Way, but...

Wrath is pretty. It should be scarier. Wrath is scary. It's the only of the seven deadly sins that eats other people, not just the sinner. It should be redder. It should be angrier.

I don't dislike either yarn out of context. But deadly sin is mythic and disproportionate. These are just too nice.

[SUMMARY: I ain't selling my soul for a Milky Way.]

Huh. I'd swear I uploaded pictures of the bonus gift tags Fearless Fibres sent. They're cute. I like them. I'll use them. I wish I had a picture to show you. Besides... bonus gift? Right in the category of Goody Bag and Limited Edition in AntiM's rickety world.

[SUMMARY: Old. Feeble. Gullible. Check.]

I almost hate to do this to you, 'cause WIP pics are frequently dull. 'Specially fingering-weight size 12 (men's) socks.

The girl version of Big Baby is coming along swimmingly. I have less than two-and-a-half balls left to knit. For some reason, this one seems to be taking way more yarn. The boy version I knit a couple of months ago called for nine balls and took just over eight. This one looks like it might take all of ten.

Go figure.

Lizard Ridge is such fun.

Seriously, how many of those have you seen? But this is *my* Lizard Ridge. It's special.††

[SUMMARY: blahblah Lizard Ridge blah...]

No matter how many Lizard Ridges you've seen in your Innernets travels, I bet you've seen more of these:

I do love this little sweater. It took about... four hours? five? to get this far, which puts it in the realm of something I could knit easily in a weekend if I needed a last minute gift. Particularly since I don't intend to have to frog the first two colours for having forgotten the seed stitch when I do the next one. And I won't have to read the instructions next time.

It's that easy.

I have since done the seed stitch border on the left front and applied i-cord all the way down the left and around the corner to pick up the bottom to i-cord.

[SUMMARY: blahblah Tulip blah...]

Knitting pictures to make you feel better, crane picture to make me feel better.

[SUMMARY: blahblah Crane blah...]

In culinary adventure news, in eating my own weight in sushi last night, I tried sea urchin for the first time. Bleagh. OK, it tasted fantastic, but I couldn't quite get past the texture. Runny fish pudding... it just ain't right.

[SUMMARY: Some things just shouldn't go in your mouth. Shut up.]

In TiVi news, Fling and I rested with some BBC the other night and caught Top Gear. Have you seen this? If you like MythBusters, I think you'll like this. Two (maybe three) British guys race cars with celebrities, then trick out cars and perform experiments on them as dictated by... the producers? The viewing audience?

Like this:

Monday's episode featured a Chevy... um... it looked like a Cobalt. A bunch of aging musicians and soccer players dropped by the track and raced it, trying for the best time.

Meanwhile, the hosts drank tea from china cups near the track (Fling and I both agreed they were at least as death-wishy as the people taking a Chevy Cobalt to 160 mph, sitting that close to the track. Also that most of the people appeared to be hammered). The aging musicians had a keyboard jam while a soccer player took his turn.

It was slightly less surreal than it sounds.

Next, they drove what I think was a Porsche. I thought it was a 959, but it clearly wasn't once I got a good look at it. One of the celebrity guest drivers lost control and drove it to the infield, leaving a trail of tires and bits all the way.

After the break, they came back and turned a mini-van into a convertible, after which they had to perform three tasks with it:

Take it up to 100 mph and have nothing fall off.

Drive it through an animal preserve featuring African animals.

Take it through and automated car wash.

They weren't allowed to fix anything between challenges, so the frame of the convertible top was all wonky when they went to the animal preserve.‡‡ After monkeys rode it all the way through the preserve, poking and peeling the canvas top, they took it to the car wash. At night. And bailed when the roof collapsed.

They peeked around a wall to see smoke pouring out of the car wash.

HOST1: It's on fire.HOST2: Fire?! It can't be on fire.HOST1: RUN!!!

Yeah, like teenaged boys after being caught in an ill-advised egging, they took off, leaving the smoking wreck of the converted mini-van for the owner of the car wash.

Good TiVi. I highly recommend it. Besides, Ewan McGregor is going to be on next week.

[SUMMARY: Boys doing dumb things are irritating in your living room, but funny on TiVi.]

Now go have a happy Wednesday.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Also maybe the vicarious prurient joy y'all are getting from my current sluttastic lifestyle.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Ally very thoughtfully (as only Ally can) corrected the error of my ways in literally judging a book by its cover in the comments on her post yesterday.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Which at that time, boys and girls, did *not* play 80s music. "Classic rock" meant mostly 50s music.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Like when the cat falls clean off the dresser and just pauses right as he landed to lick the body part closest to him like it was all part of his grooming strategy.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): No, it's not a normal topic of conversation, but we have rolled out little bits of our love lives on occasion. I can see it happening. Suddenly I'm in some weirdly incestuous relationship where I'm playing big sister in one room and Penthouse Pet in another.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Except for, y'know, the handful of dearest friends and family to whom I whine and obsess endlessly in these cases. The more I love you, the less exempt you are.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): When Red and I were speculating on what colours we would use for which sins (before we received our yarn), I said I'd probably make sloth brown (not unlike this, but with less caramel) simply because... well, sloths are brown.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Hey, I just sold my soul for a Milky Way. Humour me.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): On their way to SafariLand (not necessarily its actual name), they were arguing about whether they were more frightened of lions or monkeys. After much hilarity involving sign language to illustrate monkey teeth vs. lion teeth, they boiled it down to "would you rather be locked in a phone booth for a half-hour with a lion or a monkey?" One guy stuck to monkey, the other two stuck to the lion.

When they got to SafariLand, the lions were too busy making little lions to even pay attention to the mini-van with the chewy centre, whereas the monkeys attacked the vehicle and eventually rode it all the way to the edge of the park.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Well, one of my almosts (Labour Day weekend fling) called, came over, stayed, helped put calendula on my rug burns this morning.† We're not flinging so much this weekend,% as he has a gig DJing a wedding in the mountains, but we may have Sunday dinner.

So wholesome.‡

[SUMMARY: There is more to life than fibre. However, it better come with a paper umbrella or a lively tongue.^]

I did take pictures of all sorts of fibre-related stuff, but The Fling¶ called just as I was finishing the photo shoot and I had to do a quick sweep (literally and figuratively) to bring Chez Barfly up to code.

Thus, I didn't have time to upload pictures.

And I was running a little later than usual this morning.

So maybe tomorrow.

[SUMMARY: Buck up, little blogketeers -- knitting pictures will make it all better.]

As I initiated him (hence the blogtitle) into the concept of KNITTER!!! yesterday evening... last night... this morning...

(sorry)

...there were little knitterly somethings that came out of the evening§ I know y'all can appreciate:

First, The Fling is very, very impressed with my knitting. He asked, so I showed and eventually he was digging through my pile of knitting asking about various projects. He cooed over the Tulip Sweater# and is in awe of Lizard Ridge ("No way! You did this?"). Points for The Fling.

Second, The Fling is a little frightened at the quantity of yarn,$ but generally seems to see it all as potential knitted goods, which is better visualisation than I can crank up for much of my stash. His overall support and faith gains extra points.

Third, I think he may have hinted for a scarf. We were lounging on the deck this morning just before he left and he said, rather out of the blue, "I'm looking forward to snow. I like the clothes. I like jackets and mittens... all of it. Scarves. I *really* like scarves."

[SUMMARY: Four out of five knitters surveyed prefer fibre-friendly men for their bodies that want men.]

While I know that most of y'all voted for me to stay home with the rice-eating cat until something better came along, I think you can see why The Fling was an excellent (if interim) second choice.

[SUMMARY: Well done.]

*************

So I was at Sunflower Market yesterday, picking up some Olathe sweet corn to grill and some sundry food items, when what to my wondering ears should appear? The "Wear Your Love Like Heaven" song, which is insidious in the extreme, but I gave myself the gigglesnorts singing...

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I almost had a fling for the holiday weekend...‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): As wholesome as rug burns get.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Get your mind out of the gutter. He's a particularly lively conversationalist. And his dick is *huge*.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): ...night... morning... oops! I did it again!

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I don't know how he could be anything but, really. He turned 33 a week after I turned 40. So young, so succulent, so inappropriate... *sigh*

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I know what you're thinking ('specially Brother, who has been witness to more than one closeted, repressed, that-river-in-Egypt gay boyfriend of mine), but he has a four-year-old daughter. He's allowed to coo over tiny little clothes.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Darlings, he only saw the small pile in front of the powder room and the projects on needles. He hasn't been in the yarn room yet.

Today's footnotes are brought to you by the letters X and Q, the number 4 and Chris's smartass comments.

Friday, August 24, 2007

A debut novel, it's apparently about a group of crack sheep† detectives solving the mystery of the murder of their beloved shepherd. And, y'all know... sheep... knitblog‡...

For part of Tallest, Hairiest Nephew's birthday present, Klutz Press Building Cards,§ the build-your-own Hogwarts set.

I also got him a nice novel and a joke book. His parents deserve the joke book¶ after fostering and encouraging the "AntiM as weird obsessive" myth. *ahem*

I got a couple of books for me. Janet Evanovich because a hundred random knitters have told me I have to read her, and Jasper Fforde because... well, because Jasper Fforde is a genius god chocolate-covered package of literary goodness that's too high brow to recommend to just anyone so it has the same exclusivity that makes me *squee* over gift bags and limited editions.

Oh, my. Did I say that out loud? Even the chocolate part?

Seriously, if you're at least kinda up on your classics (Bronte, Austen, Eliot, Dickens, et al), Fforde's books are funny and brilliant, an odd and wholly satisfying blend of science fiction, elaborate puns and literary references that will keep you enthralled.

[SUMMARY: Book. Problem.]

Overheard on 16th Street: two guys you could call Frat Boy and Pakistani Sports Geek arguing about a bungled FANTASY NASCAR trade. The mind boggles.

[SUMMARY: Apu meets Spicoli at the ESPN Zone. The mind boggles.]

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): In the review, nobody specified exactly what "crack sheep" are, but I'm guessing it has something to do with stash yarn.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Is too.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I got him the space ship building cards for... Flag Day? My birthday? They were fun. Love me some Klutz Press. Have a book problem.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Those of you with children, or have spent time with a child with a joke book understand. For the rest of you, it's the seven-year-old equivalent of listening to your "funny" Uncle Marty try to be funny through the entire family reunion. Before long, you pray for just one bullet, and you're not even sure if you want to use it on Uncle Marty or yourself.

How long do you think it will take before the Duh thing gets old? You guys should have a pool.TTHFCIF

And, heilige katzen? Guide me, make me strong. Don't let me sit, helpless, at the Cider Moon shop tomorrow morning, clicking "refresh" over and over, hoping for a glimpse and maybe a bite of the "range of one of a kind† colors available in Glacier, Flurry, Icicle, and Blizzard" promised in this latest newsletter.

Give me the strength to leave the credit card upstairs and simply enjoy the pretty pictures for their artistic beauty and not covet my neighbour's stash. Particularly when my "neighbour" in this particular case is a frickin' shop owner who has a vested interest in my weak and covetous nature and the fibre to support it.

And, for fuck's sake, keep the "one really cool dark-green/purpley color called Borneo. But you'll just have to wait to see that one tomorrow" away from me.

I don't. need. more. yarn.

Or, if I think I do, please remind me that the first shipment from the Seven Deadly Sins Sock Club is on its way.

Amen.

[SUMMARY: Hallelujah and pass the Addis.]

*************

It is Tallest, Hairiest Nephew's birthday weekend. He will be seven on Wednesday.

In trying to ascertain what he would like, I became fixated on something called Fly Wheels, probably because it was the one thing he not only mentioned, but demonstrated at great length.

Fly Wheels, it turns out, are not a single toy, nor a homogenous product. Fly Wheels is a series of randomly-related toys. In fact, the only thing the various Fly Wheels have in common is one of those shudder-bar rip-cord things to power them.

When I whined helplessly to eBeth about the overwhelming number of Fly Wheels on the Innernets and how I had to find just the right one,$ she said, "I find them at Target all the time. Really, he's easy. If you find something like it and look on the shelf next to it, he'd probably like that toy too."

eBeth shared this story with Tallest, Hairiest Nephew, who thought it was pretty funny, in light of its predictably obsessive charm.&

They continued on to speculate that AntiM would *probably* get him a book too.%

Apparently, making fun of AntiM's little quirks is a competitive sport in the Brother household.

[SUMMARY: There should be an AntiM board game.]

Whoa.^ I think I just got an idea for a Christmas project.

*************

No pictures. The camera battery died yesterday when I went to pick up CLCWWW from her exile to the outdoor parking lot‡ and I had to take a couple of shots of the big crane§ on the new One Lincoln building.

Which was a crying shame, particularly since I forgot to put the battery in the charger last night, which I'm sure has nothing to do with the Perfect Petaltrunk show and evil Amber liqueur.¶

But the fact of my neglect was brought home at... oh, one o'clock? when the biblical storm hit and I didn't have a camera to take a picture of the flash flood (complete with hail)# in the alley and street.

This morning, all was fresh and green and cool and ever-so-slightly damp, but no sign of the tempest that disturbed my sleep and soaked my carpet.

[SUMMARY: Short. Sweet. Wet. Just like your dear ol' AntiM.]

Oh, get your mind out of the gutter.

And have a lovely weekend.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): *moan* one-of-a-kind...

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): She's fine, thank you for asking. After last year's fiasco, I know how to dry out my car. No muss, no fuss, no mold, no mildew. Breaking down a Mini Cooper headliner is a niche skill, but one that works for me.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Though none I found on the Innernets looked to me to be anything like what Tallest, Hairiest Nephew demo'd for me. Other than the shudder-bar rip-cord thingy.

&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): "Charm" may be solely my conceit. I may just be predictable and obsessive. I don't think my brother should be allowed to weigh in on this.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which has nothing to do, I'm sure, with the fact that the nephews get books from me for ALL the major holidays, including Flag Day, Columbus Day, Arbor Day and Tuesday.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): ...whoa, you got the best of my duh...

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Big, um... but size doesn't count.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): A charming maple-flavoured scotch sampled last night at the Coral Room (formerly known as "Favourite Bar") that left me fuzzy and warm and hallucinating for hours after only three mouthsful. Dangerous stuff.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Seriously, it looked like the water glasses of a hundred thousand upscale restaurants had been emptied of their contents in one mad whoosh.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

It rained yesterday afternoon because my car was in an outside lot and I left the windows and sunroof cracked to help avoid the wood-fired pizza atmosphere most common to outside-dwelling vehicles in the summer.

Except for the part where the counting to eight was nearly too much and I forgot the seed stitch at the first colour change and I swear I didn't ask Genius Knitter Sarah to join my book club† just so she could help me with my knitting and count to eight for me and save me from my dorkest self, but, well...

I've long advocated that one of the best tools you can take with you camping is a college football player.

Remember Tommy? Once carried a 75-quart cooler on his shoulder, over the hill to the lake so we wouldn't have to pack our lunch in or go back to camp. Best. Camping. Equipment. EVER.

It doesn't hurt to have a genius knitter at your side through many of life's adventures either. Just sayin'.

Much knitting could happen tonight. I may even have pictures tomorrow.

'Cause, y'know... knitting pictures are second only to college football players in making it all better.

[SUMMARY: Still a knitblog. A knitblog with college football players.]

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Cormac McCarthy's "The Road." Save your money. Good for discussion, bad for the soul.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): It may seem like I'm unusually invested in this project, but if Cheryl gets a spot on the show, I get to use the pole dancing animated emoticon in her comments section, and I've been DYING to do that. You can check out the pole dancing emoticon while you're telling her how you voted for her.

See, there is early bird parking in the garage in the building where I am currently working. Parking is only $6.00 all day if you 1) arrive before 8:30† and 2) park on the 7th level or above.

Some time around 8:30, parking gnomes skip through the 7th and 8th floors and put little white slips on all the good cars so we get charged the $6.00 early bird rate, rather than the $9.00 late and lazy schmuck rate.

Actually, $9.00 all day for covered downtown parking is pretty good too, but that's not the point.

The point is, if I'm willing to haul my ass to the office at 7:00 every morning and take the elevator from top to bottom and drive up and down miles of tight, blind corkscrews to save $3.00, I'd say I've earned it.

Now, it's not exactly unusual that there is no early bird slip on my car. I don't know if the parking gnomes take weekly religious holidays or if late and lazy schmucks sneak up to the 7th floor to steal the early bird slip and pass it off as their own, but about once a week, I don't get my slip. The nice Ethiopian lady who mans the toll booth at the bottom of the parking garage just charges me the $6.00 and it's all good.

I agreed, turned my car around and headed for an outside lot two blocks away. Where it's $5.00 all day, but my car is exposed and will have all the charm of an EZ Bake Oven when I get to it this afternoon.

On the other hand, I remembered to bring my lunch for the first time in three-and-a-half weeks, so I've got that going for me.

Oh, to be an American with American problems. Bless this country and all its fucked-up parking garages.

[SUMMARY: And how are you today?]

*************

In knitting news:

I am having a damned hard time sticking to the knitting I "should"§ be doing and leaving the Lizard Ridge alone. I love Lizard Ridge. Now that I've gotten over my communication problem with the pattern, I'm just enthralled with the colour changes.

[SUMMARY: Lizard Ridge is no longer my bitch. Lizard Ridge is my new best friend.]

In Debt Knitting, I knit a full 1/8 inch^ on the Father's Day socks last night and completely failed to give in to temptation and knit Lizard Ridge.

On the Deficit Knitting front, I succumbed to peer pressure and bought three Dream In Color Tulip Sweater Kits for three tiny little girls flying into my radar. I'll let you know how that goes.¶

As for yesterday's little poll, it appears that, indeed, knitters that read this blog# rarely or never get hand-knit gifts from their knitter friends. One thing I didn't get an answer for was why most of you don't knit for knitters. I finally landed on a viable answer to that question for myself: I didn't have knitter friends until March, so I've had little opportunity to celebrate birthdays and Christmases†† with knitters.

I still think knitting for knitters would be intimidating. I just haven't tested the theory yet.

[SUMMARY: What's your excuse?]

Lookie here!

eca the elf‡‡ passed this on to me. Anybody who's in my sidebar (including Franklin, if I have anything to say about it) deserves one too.

[SUMMARY: *Do* I have anything to say about it?]

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Who doesn't make it to Big Corporate Work World by 8:30? When I get in at 7:00, the entire 13th floor -- yes, I'm on the 13th floor -- is already here and has apparently been working for hours.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Which tells me nothing useful. I don't know what "special" parking is. Don't I qualify as special? I drive a very short car, you know... is that the same as a short bus?

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Debt Knitting (stuff I've specifically promised to someone), Deficit Knitting (stuff I haven't promised to anyone, but am knitting after the event for which the gift should have been intended) and Deadline Knitting (stuff that has to be done by X date or I'm a late and lazy schmuck).

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Or 37 rounds, for those scoring at home.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I'm being funny again. You already know how it goes. You've watched the Harlot and Franklin knit them, which means 99% of the blog-going knitpublic has seen some account of this sweater and you know exactly what the process is and the colours involved... hell, you probably don't even need a pattern by now, you're so well acquainted.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

I had a couple of things (two knitting, one knot†) rattling around in my fuzzy little head today.

Then I decided not to get on my soapbox about parents who are too sensitive about things like playing Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board at slumber parties and such.‡

[SUMMARY: You're welcome.]

So it's all about knitting today (OK, except for the joke tacked onto the end to make up for the lack of material), though in a disjointed, haphazard, no FO kinda way.

[SUMMARY: What part of "all" do I not understand?]

First, all thanks to Robin, who provided me the Fun Fur seen here. I know y'all may not think thanks are due, but then, maybe you don't have nephews and don't have fanatasies of knitting furry little sheeps.

Second, does anybody knit for you? I was having this email convo with a eca-elf and Red recently about how for one, nobody ever knits for knitters,# and two, it might be intimidating for a knitter to knit for knitters and maybe that's why.

Do you have knitting friends with whom you exchange knitted gifts?

If not, is it because, while the muggle world is in awe of the simplest of scarves, a knitter will know exactly how difficult a pattern should be or will notice you accidentally k1'd where you were supposed to p1? Or just because you figure if they want it, they can knit it their damnselves?

Corollary question: Would you rather receive yarn and/or patterns as a gift, or an FO?

Just curious. If it seems appropriate (i.e. -- if I get more than two answers or if there's a particularly riveting train of thought), I'll post results. 'Cause that's what knitters do. And I roll like a knitta.§§

[SUMMARY: It's sort of like making you write your own Rickety Blogpost.]

Third, because it's not too early to plan: Glinda†† and I are going to Rhinebeck for NY Sheep and Wool on October 20. Mostly, Glinda is kind enough to get me there and hold my hand so I'm not alone in the great big city, hoping to catch the right train and not end up in Rhode Island. Well, and she's saving my friend Jeff from foisting me on one of his poor, unsuspecting fibre-geek friends.

In any case, we'll be there. I figure I'll put it out to the blogiverse in case anyone else is

Going and would like to meet up,

on the fence and this might push you to one side or the other, or

wasn't planning on it, but dying to hang out with Glinda and willing to put up with me in the bargain.

Shout at your girl§§ if you want a meet-n-greet in the Land of Wool.

[SUMMARY: N. Y. Sheep. And. Wool. The holy grail, people.]

Dude, so dull.

Here, my dad sent me this and I think it's funny (I have a feeling it's going to look wonky what with the auto-border thing on pictures, but I tried to remove them. If I didn't succeed, I apologise for my lack of html experience):

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Remember: I think I'm funny. The fact that I can't see you not laughing only fails to detract from my glee. Dissect that, word geeks!

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I will say that this was precipitated by a discussion on another blog (totally non-knitting) in which one of the commenters said her children are forbidden from watching scary movies or reading ghost stories, which I find... ridiculous. Ridiculous to the point of damaging.

Bad Marin! NO SOAPBOX!

I really wanted to have a chance, though to put this out there, because it made me giggle, even in an unsnarky, no soapbox way:

The last sentence of her comment, and apparently her support for why her kids aren't allowed to partake of la vida gótica, to paraphrase: "I saw 'Children of the Corn' when I was twelve. I haven't been able to spend any amount of time in cornfields after dark since then."

I don't think I've ever been in a cornfield after dark. Do you suppose she's an ethanol farmer?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Glinda, in her former incarnation as Secret Pal, knit me a lovely scrubby bath mitt thingy. Mom knitted me a scarf with my name on it (which was stolen weeks later in the band hallway during play rehearsal -- who steals a scarf with the name MARIN knitted right into it?). But as a knitter, with loads of knitter friends, I've never received knitted objects.

Monday, August 20, 2007

Marin - I was thinking of you today as Dan Patrick was winding up his radio show. I am very worried that you won't have anything to fill your afternoons. If you feel yourself slipping over to the Rush Limbaugh show, call me and we can have an intervention right away!

MattMr. Patrick?

Dan?

Danny?

Oh, my aching heart and my empty ears.

Ten years ago, I was visiting a long-distance boyfriend in Boston. To make a long story short, only half-playfully he asked me to name his penis. I said, "Susan."†

He got... upset... and suggested we name my breasts Dan and Keith. I gleefully suggested we should carry the theme to other parts of my body.‡

I should have known then he didn't know me nearly well enough to see me naked. He didn't realise that invoking Dan Patrick was no way to anger me into backing down on his Boy Named Sue.

[SUMMARY: Now I'm verklempt over Dan.]

Once upon a time, there was one of those quizzes on the Innernets that was Twenty Questions for your celebrity crush. You picked a celebrity crush and it asked yes or no questions until the database took it to a conclusion. At the end of the quiz, it guessed your celebrity crush, then told you how many other people taking the quiz shared your celebrity crush.

It never guessed Dan Patrick, and only 6 other people had run him through the game.§

A little over eight years ago, I was driving back from Cheyenne, Wyoming, fiddling with the radio and hoping to catch a college station to carry me through to the Denver airwaves. I ran across the Dan Patrick Show on ESPN Radio in its second day on the air.¶

Heaven, I'm in heaven...

[SUMMARY: Now I'm nostalgic for the salad days of Dan.]

Danny-Boy has entered my realm# now and started his own website/blog. That may help.

I like to think he waited to leave until football season started, just to soften the blow.††

[SUMMARY: Oh, now I'm mad at Dan. He made me think of Sean Salisbury.]

*************

There's a contest. Here. Tell her Marin sent you -- I need the sock yarn to cushion the Dan blow.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): It isn't as mean as it sounds. There were solid reasons. I don't remember them right now, seeing as right now I mostly think of how appropriate "Susan" was in a far nastier way.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Bob Costas. You know you wanted to ask.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Only two other people had picked Bob Costas.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I was there when Phil became Showkiller. I was there for the advent of the round bell for weight and height announcements. I was there for the Sean Salisbury/Rob Dibble spelling bee. I was there for "Ron." I was there when Ron... er, Dan and Rob sang "Cars." I was there when Dan interviewed Jay-Z during a chronic break.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Look at me, gettin' all proprietary with the Innernets.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): He couldn't have known Ebenezer Ekuban would get broken and I'd need a lot of support right now.

P.S. -- Sorry, knittas. I warned you football season might get a little dicey for some of you. And at the time, I hadn't really absorbed the idea that my hero and lifelong best friend (is too!) Dan Patrick would be leaving ESPN to pursue... who knows what? If I had realised, I might have warned you about the impending Dan depression too. In any case, don't be confused. Focus on the sock yarn and know there is always more knitting just around the corner.

Friday, August 17, 2007

I got my latest shipment from Cider Moon, a fuzzy addiction perpetrated by Laura at Affiknity. I'm sure the nice proprietors over at Cider Moon owe Laura a big ol' kiss for sending me and my credit card their way. 'Specially since they have that "limited edition, only two available"† thing down, and y'all know what a sucker I am for that.

Limited Edition is almost as compelling as Goody Bag.

I was telling Dad last night that the first skein I ordered came with a nice postcard -- as do all their orders -- with a handwritten note saying, "Thanks for your order! Hope you enjoy the yarn!"

The second: "We hope you really like this yarn. Thanks for your continued support. Enjoy the yarn!"

This third order: "Hi, Marin! A trip to Denver sounds really good about now. We're caught right in the middle of a heat wave. Thanks again for your continued support. Happy knitting! p.s. -- if you're ever in Cleveland, you and your credit card are welcome to my spare room."‡

Besides the lovely handwritten notes,% they include little sample balls of various yarns in each shipment. Each is enough for a decent-sized swatch.

I'm saving mine up to knit a new cat.

But you're not nearly as interested in my shameful suckerhood and my cat plans as you are in the yarn (unless you're my brother, in which case, Hi! Enjoy the cat plans!).

Voilá:

That would be Icicle, which is still on sale for another 15 hours or so, in Taos and Seagrass§ (respectively). And the orange is, of course, Glacier in Hex, which you can't have because there were only two and I got this one.

You can't imagine how rabidly I want to hunt down the person who purchased the other one so I can have all the Hex in the world.

I am sick, but I have closeups, and we all know yarn makes everything better:

I also got a shipment from Pick Up Sticks. There's the Liisu Leili in Phoenix, which is by far the thinnest fingering weight I've ever seen. It's barely thicker than the lace weight in my collection, but smaller than other fingering yarns.

It's like very festive dental floss and it intimidates me.

I think the colours in the closeup are a little truer, but feast on this:

Then there's the Fleece Artist Somoko, which isn't nearly as soft as I thought it was going to be. With 10% nylon and 5% silk battling it out... well, let's just say the nylon won. You can see the silk in the shiny colour (not particularly well-represented by my purple-hating camera), but you can't really feel it.

It does feel very sturdy, though, and I think it will make well-wearing socks.

Here are the closeups:

It was really hard to get a representative bit of the Somoko. There's a surprising amount of orange and brown and about twenty shades of purple with some grey thrown in for good measure. Here:

Maybe the open skeins will help you get the idea. I have no idea how this will knit up.¶

[SUMMARY: Mmmmmmm... sock yarn... *grgllghghghlrgrgrrrgllrr*]

Since I now have enough sock yarn to cushion the blows of a thousand lovers' betrayals, it's a good thing my Cat Bordhi sock book showed up too. It's fascinating. Basically, she discovered that the little triangle you get on the sides of your heels when you put the gusset in your socks can go anywhere and the socks will still fit.

You can put it on the side of your foot.

You can put it on the top of your foot.

You can take it catty-corner across the top of your ankle.

I'm not in the business of reviewing books -- I get too easiy waylaid by shiny objects. You can read the Knitter's Review review here and I'll just show you some pretty pictures and tell you how intrigued I am and how very well laid-out and thought-out this book is, and just how useful I think it will be.

One I'm saving for another day and a sentimental little story to help y'all get over the continuing references to death and anal beads, but this I want to share:

I know it don't look like much, but it would be on the list of things I never want to be without: Laundry Magnets. Or, in current parlance, Dye Grabbers. Not the little disposable ones, mind you, which aren't as good and I'm pretty sure aren't as enviro-weenie approved.

I am a single girl.†† I can only wear so many clothes. Even on days of wildly disparate activity (i.e. -- brunch in the morning, hike in the afternoon, shake my tailfeathers in the club in the evening, indulge my inner nympho all night), I'm only going to wear, say, three outfits.

And let's face it, I'm more likely to stay in my PJs all day on a Sunday than I am to have a three-outfit day, so it more than evens out.

I stock enough underwear to take me through a couple of weeks$ and that's about how often I do laundry. Even then, it's just enough for one load.

Enter the Laundry Magnet.

I throw one in with each load and, presto! No bleeding! No swapping of bodily fluids amongst the reds and the whites! OK, OK... anything really dark or bright or red gets washed all by itself the first time, but that's just good sense. Have you ever put on a pair of jeans fresh from The Gap and found your legs to be a necrotic shade of blue at the end of the day?

That's what I'm sayin'.

Anyway...

A laundry magnet also sucks up the ink when you accidentally leave a pen in your pocket. Not that I ever do that.

It also just kinda pulls some of the grub out of the water so that murky grey stuff isn't settling back in your clothes.

I stocked up a couple of years ago -- and by "stocked up" I mean "bought three" -- and the last ones are starting to look a little shabby. So I snuggled up to Google and went looking for replacements.

Fortunately, the laundry room trash hasn't been emptied since the last time I opened a Laundry Magnet,‡‡ so the package was still there and I could get the company name and all that.

For the record, to buy directly from the company, you must generate a minimum order of $30. The list price for these things is $5.99 each, so I would have to buy six (because five, despite being on the ragged edge of $30, is not actually $30). And shipping was $20 -- they are apparently in the business of supplying industry, so they don't really account for someone ordering two ounces of cotton in their shipping options.

HOWEVER... I found them at QVC for $20 for four. Done and done.

Even if you separate your whites and darks and lights and delicates judiciously, I'd recommend these just for the extra clean and the no-ink thing.

[SUMMARY: In my next life, I want to be Vanna White and turn the letters for the whole world.]

That's my public service announcement for the month.

You're welcome.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): With me sitting there on Saturday morning when the new yarn is going up, maniacally refreshing the What's New page, going, "open open open..."

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): OK, I made that last part up, but a few more one-of-a-kinds and some Rainbow Trout and I'm pretty sure I'll have earned enough frequent flyer miles for a free stay.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I'm also such a sucker for the bonus pretties in my orders -- the Niagara Falls postcard from Les at Yarnela, the sachets in Wendy's Lanas de Libelulas packages, the Soak in (I'm pretty sure) Wendy's packages... hey! Wendy just got bonus points!

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Funny story: I got the two hanks of Icicle to make Christmas presents. Then I found yarn I liked better for those people and ordered that. So the Icicle just became unallocated stash yarn. I don't so much need unallocated stash yarn.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): That would be me, giving you the best of my Duh (whoa whoa). Isn't that the joy and pain of handpainted and/or variegated yarns? Isn't that part of the mystery that keeps us coming back?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I know, I know, but I only go to the mailbox about once a week, so following an order-intensive week, it's just like Christmas or Birthday Season at Marin's mailbox.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): You may have noticed.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Which has nothing to do with a Victoria's Secret addiction. It's strictly a practical measure... well, a practical measure frilled up in lace and thongy bits.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Almost two years. I just don't generate a lot of laundry trash... and when I finish a bottle of detergent or Clorox II, I take the empty straight to the garage. It takes a LONG TIME to accumulate enough lint to make emptying a 16-gallon trash can worthwhile. Shut up.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Well, not all of the male relatives. Can you imagine teaching this to knit?:

Little brothers can be such a drag

Before I get a pile of comments and mail about this being the best time of life to teach kids to knit, I KNOW. But these kids?

They are wonderful. They are smart. They are charming and funny and loving and cuter than socks on a squirrel (to quote Shanny). But there's a reason we waited until after bedtime to commence the knitting lessons: Energy.

Enthusiasm for all things crashing and flying.

Volume.

They do have their quiet(er) moments.†

But mostly it's just the exuberance of the young and I don't want to be responsible for what would happen when the exuberance of the young meets the pointy sticks of the knitting.

[SUMMARY: Some people have no inside voices.]

Oh, and check out the post-bath hair.‡

Dad and Brother saw the camera come out and had a little confab about the best way to avoid being knit-outed on the innernets. They came to the conclusion that the best solution was to knit naked.

Now, Dad isn't allowed to read the blog, but Brother drops by fairly regularly. He should know better than to think naked male knitters would be a deterrent to photo ops.§

[SUMMARY: Silly sibling, dicks are for vids!]

Dad managed, through the grace of needing a lot of supervision,¶ to avoid the camera entirely. He also forgot his glasses and was worn out from the day's work -- and probably the grandsons -- so he just got started and developed a knitting headache# and went home.

Dad was gone. We had no parental guidance.% Let the wild rumpus begin!

*rumpusrumpusrumpus*

eBeth (sis-in-law) has knit before, but wanted a refresher course and perhaps some assistance in keeping her project from sprouting new stitches†† at every turn. She did great, though with knitting sport-weight yarn on size 17 needles, the elegant interlocking continuity of knitting wasn't so evident.

Next time, she will knit with the "good yarn." Lovely, thick stuff she got at the Estes Park Wool Market three? Four? Two? years ago. It's a gorgeous deep brown (maybe charcoal. I just know it's pretty) and smells of lanolin. And it's much better suited to the big needles.

Wanna see something cute?

He doesn't stick his tongue out, but he does this thing with his lower lip...

His father does that too.

I spent a measurable amount of time assuring both Dad and Brother that there is nothing sexier than a man who knits. When you're training, you have to be liberal with the praise and the knitty treats. Y'all know.

Brother turned to eBeth more than once to ask some version of "Do ya think I'm sexy?" At one point, she monotoned, never looking up from her knitting, "I've never wanted you more than I want you right now."

[SUMMARY: The family that knits together...]

For the record? Brother is a natural knitter (and I suspect he did a little pre-lesson Google prep, since he knew continental knitting as soon as I showed it to Dad). Dad likes continental, Brother sticks with English. Brother knits *tight*. Maybe tighter than me. Brother is knitting bulky, Dad is knitting worsted. Um... Brother's is green. Dad's is navy.

Anything else you need to know about the knitting styles of the AntiM family?

I've walked by this sweater at Homer Reed Ltd. many days on my way to lunch.

I think the peach on the knit portion of the rib is a little... meh. But I like the overall look of it. Maybe if the periwinkle@ were in dominant rib position.‡‡ But it's a cool knitting thing and I took a picture of it just for you.

This, because I like the clouds and the bridge and it didn't look right when I cropped I-25 out of the picture.

[SUMMARY: Sometimes just because. And sometimes just because I can.]

This, because, well... look closely at the rightish side of middle:

See it?

Look close:

The leaves are turning.

All up and down the mall, I noticed the trees getting yellowy and rusty and it's not just pollution and other urban tree blight.

It's autumn on the way.

*FOOTNOTE (asterisked): OK, so not really, but they threatened.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Dr. Doom is surfing on a copy of "I Taught Myself to Knit," for those of you scoring at home.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I wish all those super-hip young guys with the carefully-sculpted bed-head look could see how much they resemble a three-year-old straight from the bath.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Indeed, with this crowd, I should be able to make spending money charging for pictures of naked male knitting.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And don't think for a second that's a coincidence.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): If Rob Halford just wailed in your reptile brain, we really need to have a beer some time.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Poor Dad. I started him out with the Magic Cast-On and toe-up socks. Hell of a way to learn to knit.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): You know, as Brother was adding new stitches with alarming regularity, I was consoling him with, "It's very manly. All the boys I've taught to knit add stitches." I have since realised that I've taught two boys and one girl to knit. Is it a guy thing or a new knitter thing? Maybe eBeth's issue is also adding stitches (generally by not dropping the knit stitch off the left needle). Thoughts? Anyone?

^FOOTNOTE (careted): You may notice the bear in many pictures. Mr. Brown really gets around. Maybe that's the bear I should have used in the heading.